Master Apprentice Archive Too Wild Quick search:

Rating: NC-17

Archive: Master-Apprentice

Series: Possible sequels in the future

Pairing: Non Q/O (O/C)

Categories: Velvet Goldmine/TPM (AU) crossover. PWP, humor/parody. Loose screenplay format.

Feedback: Dying for it, please. email above.

Spoilers/Warnings: Language, language and more language. This piece assumes you have seen or read Velvet Goldmine; spoilers. Drug references. This was never beta'ed, I just sort of threw it up as is.

Disclaimers: George Lucas and Todd Haynes own them. If wishes were speeders, etc. etc.

Summary: Obi-Wan arrives on Terra to retrieve a certain item of jewelry which Curt Wild happens to possess.

Credits: I might have used similarities to Saraid's fic in Curt's characterization; if so, it was unintentional.

[New York City, 1983]

(Opening shot: pan around night sky, a few stars through the smog. Pan slowly down to city. Close in on bar, then in through window. We see Curt Wild sitting at the bar in a black leather jacket with a bright, almost otherworldly green pin on it. He is, as we would expect, nursing a beer. His nails are painted black, but he wears no makeup. His hair is bright blonde and dull at the same time, and his eyes are the same kind of bright and dull.

In strides a young man with spiky russet hair and a Padawan braid-- our hero, sans robe, doing his level best to look normal in tunics and leggings and knee-length boots.)

Bartender: Um... (Tapping a beer. Looks up at Obi-Wan, jaw goes slack. Beer foam starts to spill over the rim of the glass. He glances at Curt, then back again; he kills the tap.)

Curt: What, man. (Looks where the bartender is looking, then we get to see just complete and utter disbelief hit him.) Fuck. (Muttering.) Ten years and that shit is still coming back on me. (Wipes a hand over his face and looks again, then back at the bartender, then relief dawns on his face as he realizes the bartender sees this apparition too.)

Bartender (Obviously resisting the urge to look back and forth between Curt and Obi-Wan): Help you?

Obi-Wan: Yes, please. I wonder if you could tell me, has anyone hereabouts seen anything like this? (Whips out small holo projector and keys it. We see a rotating, perfect, if slightly transparent, image of the unbelievably green pin Curt has on his jacket. The bartender and Curt are staring at the projector and only belatedly notice the actual projection.)

Bartender (Nervously flicks his eyes at Curt): Um...

Curt (Brazen but not drunk-- yet-- and focusing on the image of the pin. He flicks his hand toward the holoprojector.): What the fuck is that thing?

Obi-Wan (still looking at bartender's ashen face) It's -- (pausing, then going on with the infinite patience borne of understanding that some cultures simply cannot accept certain forms of technology): It's called a holo projector. (Looks at Curt, then shock blooms on his face and in his eyes as he sees first Curt's features, and then, almost as an afterthought, the pin on one lapel.) I-- (awed) ...By the Force.

Curt (rising): Huh? (His world has just been rocked, and not in a good way.) What the fuck is this? What is that thing? Who the fuck are you?

Obi-Wan (bowing slightly): I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan representative of the Republic Senate and the Order of the Jedi. (Cut back and forth between Curt and Obi-Wan; it's obvious Curt hasn't a clue what was just said, and he takes another pull from his beer, his eyes full of suspicion.) I have come to retrieve this item, as it is very important to an operation I am overseeing.

Curt (muttering again): I'm too sober for this shit. (Drinks more. Looks like he would order another but the bartender has disappeared. Apparently he's too sober for this shit, too. Then, almost as an afterthought once more, the pin in question gets recalled:) How'd you get my pin in there?

Obi-Wan: Sir, I will be glad to explain, if I may speak to you privately? (Glances around pointedly, taking in the very strange looks he's getting.)

Curt (To the bartender, shouting, assuming Curt can be heard wherever the bartender is hiding): Chuck! Borrow your office?

Bartender (Muffled): Yeah!

(Follow boys into cluttered office. Papers stacked everywhere, several porn mags, something that looks suspiciously like a bong in the corner on top of a small fridge.)

Curt (turning to Obi-Wan, leaning his hips back on the desk and crossing his arms over his chest): Ok now, what the fuck. (He's casting his eyes about quickly, looking for something to either smoke or snort, probably. He has a half-frantic, half-rebellious look in his eyes.) Did Brian send you?

Obi-Wan (quirking an eyebrow): Brian?

Curt: Yeah, whatever. Look. This is some freaky shit, ok, you come in here with that... that hollow... thing, and it's got *my* pin in it, and, you know, this thing (waving back and forth between their faces with his hand). And... gah... man. What are you *wearing?* (Looking Obi-Wan up and down.)

Obi-Wan (calmly-- he's researched Terran customs, and expected this. Terrans are notoriously closed off from the rest of the universe.): That stone was sent to this planet by mistake, with someone who was meant to be an emissary. Now we need it to complete a shielding sequencer. I've come to collect it.

Curt (Rakes his fingers through his hair and turnso to the desk, sliding papers and junk around, finally finding a pack of cigarettes with a Bic jammed in it. Shakily extricates and lights one and starts to smoke, turns back.): What the *fuck.* (Cigarette is perched between two fingers, and he looks at the floor and bites his painted thumbnail.)

(Obi-Wan is looking at him calmly, seeming to be aware that there's next to nothing he can say that will help)

Curt (scowling a little, still biting his thumbnail): So that's all this is. (Flicks ashes in the general direction of an ashtray.) You want my pin.

Obi-Wan: Yes. Now, I do have ... (digging into a pouch on utility belt) ... about three hundred dollars. I would be more than willing to purchase it. (Pulls out money, shows it to Curt.)

Curt (Taking the money, his hand clumsily brushing Obi-Wan's): This isn't-- (Laughing.) Shit. Did you forget what country you were landing on? This is the U.S. Fuck. (Laughing more, handing the money back.)

Obi-Wan (pulling out a datapad from the back of his utility belt, punching in calculations): Oh.

Curt: Man, even if I was gonna take your money, *that* wouldn't even get me a sandwich and a Coke. D'you need help, you know, getting around? Because-- (Snorting laughter, and trying to control it.) You really can't go around with *pesos.* And-- your clothes. (Waving hand at Obi-Wan's uniform, then thinking about it.) Well, it could work at clubs I guess.

Obi-Wan (disconcerted): Well, I seem to have made some research errors. The Council isn't going to be happy with this.

Curt (Stubbing out cigarette, looking at him coolly. We can see he thinks he's getting a bit of a grasp on things now.): Fucking Brian. (Shakes his head.) He had to go off on that whole Maxwell Demon tangent. And that was what fucked me all up. Fucking Maxwell Demon, huh, fucking queen and his goddamned spaced-out ideas of how shit was supposed to be (he reins himself in with great effort)-- And now here you are, and you say you're from-- (waving his hand at the sky)... Just tell Brian--

Obi-Wan (Trying to keep his focal point here.): I *need* to retrieve that pin. I will be direct with you-- Jack, is it?

Curt (Seriously laughing.): Curt. It's Curt. Man.. Jack? You *do* need some help with your shit there. Jack. (Snorting again.)

Obi-Wan: There must be something I can do to purchase that stone from you.

Curt (starting to unglue a little): Now look. Whoever'da fuck you are, I don't care. Brian is not getting shit back from me. If he wants something, he can come and try to take--

Obi-Wan: I do not know this Brian person. Is he the one I need to see to get the stone?

Curt (fairly spitting): Like you'd get anywhere near him. Let's see, no money, weird clothes, sounds like a Brit-- and asking for Oscar Wilde's fucking pin. (Steps forward and squeezes Obi-Wan's arm. Obi-Wan gives him a startled look.) Well you don't *feel* like a flashback.

Obi-Wan (folding his arms over his chest, looking like he really needs great big brown sleeves to tuck into): Oh-- I had forgotten about that. Perhaps you would rather trade for psychotropic substances?

Curt: Psychotro-- (he pauses, considering it.) Naw-- I'm clean now. Look. Why don't you-- (Looks at Obi-Wan's clothing again) I could loan you some shit to wear and then we could eat something and you could try to, you know, come up with something a little better to tell me. Because I am not buying into this fucking spaceman crap. (Looking startled all over again.) How the fuck can it be that you look exactly like me? Who are you?

Obi-Wan (still with the same calm): I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. I represent the Republic Senate and--

Curt (waving his hand impatiently): Yeah, yeah. I got that part. Just follow me, ok? (Leaves the office with Obi-Wan in tow.)

(Cut to Curt's apartment, a little seedy place, more-or-less tidy but obviously old. Paint is peeling at the doorjamb and the place has a years-old grunge to it that isn't going to come out if Curt were Martha-fucking-Stewart. He lets them in and then waves his hand for Obi-Wan to follow him down a hall.)

Curt: Here. (Rummaging in a closet.) Try that on. (He catches himself, looks back at Obi-Wan, who is staring at him a little.) Ok, ok yeah I'm pretty sure it fits. Just put it on. (Muttering.) This is some fucked-up shit here.

Obi-Wan (Catching a pair of jeans thrown at him.): What's fucked up shit about it?

Curt (Looking at Obi-Wan, still standing in the closet doorway.): Shit, man, I mean, look at us. And this-- what the *fuck* kind of story is that anyway? (He's starting to lose his tenuous grasp again, his comprehension has gone MIA, and he's getting irritated.)

Obi-Wan (Wincing-- he didn't want to do it this way. His voice goes completely deadpan.): It's a perfectly plausible story (waving his hand slightly). It's the truth. That's all you need to know.

Curt (eyes slightly more glazed than usual): It's plausible. It's all I need to -- (shaking his head) But that doesn't fucking mean you get my pin, man. And I'm not taking three hundred fucking pesos for it. Even if you are The Man from Delta Fucking Five.

Obi-Wan (startled): All right, then, Curt. Listen. I will explain the shielding device, if you want me to, and then you will understand how very crucial that stone is.

Curt (stepping out of the closet and closing it, folding his arms over his chest defensively): Whatever. (He's still standing there, and doesn't look like he's going to leave, so Obi-Wan starts undoing his belt and sash.) I think you should prove it. I mean, you've got something magical (wiggles his fingers), don't you? Something that's just going to torque with my head till I can't help but buy your gig completely?

(Obi-Wan unclips his lightsaber from the belt he's laid on the bed, powers it up, and waves it slightly.)

Curt (stupefied whisper): Mother *fucker.* What the fuck is *that*?

Obi-Wan: It's a weapon. (He's relishing this. He's never been able to show off like this before. He demonstrates the power of the Jedi weapon by dipping it gently toward the footboard of the bed and lopping the knob off one corner as though it had been butter.)

Curt (wide-eyed): Hey!

Obi-Wan (realizes what he's done): Oh-- I'm sorry-- (to himself) Sith hells. (Picks up the slightly smoking knob and makes a lame attempt at putting it back; of course it won't stay.)

Curt (walks over and examines the knob, turning it in his hand and feeling that it's faintly warm): Goddamn. (Looks at Obi-Wan, who has powered down the 'saber and put it away again) And this-- (Indicates their looks again.) This just trips me out.

Obi-Wan: It is rather uncanny, isn't it? (Tugging off his tunics.)

Curt: (Makes a short grunt. He steps closer to Obi-Wan, openly staring at his chest.) It's just unfuckingbelievable. (It seems he's forgotten his annoyance. As though Obi-Wan isn't really a person, Curt grabs his arm and wheels him around, looking at his back and waist.)

Obi-Wan (rubbing his arm after Curt lets go of it): The odds of an occurrence like this are astronomical, I will grant you that much. (But he's looking at Curt now, curiously.)

Curt: What. Fuck, I need a cigarette. (Pats his pockets, then goes to the nightstand, rummages through a drawer.)

Obi-Wan: Take off your shirt, would you?

Curt (suspiciously): Why? (Finds cigarettes and lights up greedily, the picture of an addict who's switched fixes.)

Obi-Wan: I am curious to see if we are as identical as it seems. (Starts unbuckling his boots.)

Curt (Shrugs, slides his jacket off, then pulls his shirt over his head.): Whatever. (Tosses shirt on top of the bed and goes back to Obi-Wan, with his hands on his hips. Like he's a little nervous, but damn if he's going to show it.)

(Obi-Wan looks at him, studying him, at the eyes that are the same as his, and the hair that is not. He touches the hair, softly, rubbing it between his thumb and fingers, then dispassionately tilts Curt's chin to one side, then up a little. He walks around to Curt's back, and Curt jumps a little as he touches a place on the lower back, delicately.)

Curt: What.

Obi-Wan (Moving back around to Curt's front, then turning his back.): I have a scar there. (He points to the place on his own back where he had touched Curt. We get to see him jump a little now, as Curt glides his fingers over the scar.)

Curt (softly): Still hurt? (Withdraws his hand.)

Obi-Wan: No. This is-- (draws a breath)

Curt: --weird shit. (He's getting turned on; we can tell by the way he keeps looking at Obi-Wan's body.)

Obi-Wan (Smiles helplessly but sees Curt's look.)

Curt (Stepping very close now, hesitating, then putting his hands on Obi-Wan's waist.): You really don't have anything to do with Brian Slade.

(Obi-Wan gives him a blank look-- maybe it's from the touch, or from the question.)

Curt: Or Tommy Stone. (Rolls his eyes.) Or-- shit. (Drops his hands and steps back.) Are you a journalist? (Accusing stare.)

Obi-Wan (Another blank look.): Journalist?

Curt (Relieved but still suspicious.): Right. (He doesn't put his hands back.)

Obi-Wan: I know this-- is very strange. (He's looking at Curt's skin, his chest, and stomach. The only thing to tell between them is that Padawan braid hanging low across Obi-Wan's chest, and also the fact that Obi-Wan's complexion has seen sun sometime within the past ten years.) It's-- got an unusual erotic quality to it, if you think about--

(That's all Curt needed. He licks his lips quickly and grabs Obi-Wan's face, kissing him hungrily. Obi-Wan is startled at first, but then responds, putting his hands on Curt's sides. They're tugging at each other's pants soon, and as soon as Curt gets Obi-Wan's leggings down, he's staring.)

Curt (Breathing heavily.): It's-- fuck. (Whispered. He pulls down his own pants, toes out of his sneakers and nearly falls over. Obi-Wan catches his elbow and, with a pointed, amazed stare at Curt's erection, sees that they're identical, once more, down to the last detail. Then Curt is kissing him again, stepping on his jeans to try to get out of them. He keeps opening his eyes, unable to believe that he's basically kissing himself. He backs up, eyes wide, maybe a little weirded out-- then he sees the Padawan braid, and grasps it, staring at it, and wraps it up in his hand. It's all he needed, really, something to hold onto while he stares into his own eyes. They fall over onto the bed.)

Curt (whispering heavily): You've-- (kissing) --you're not-- (sliding his hand down to Obi-Wan's cock, stroking it.) This isn't--

Obi-Wan (groaning): It's fine. Yes. (Writhing. He keeps opening his eyes, too, and Jedi calm has gone right out the window. We can see them both thinking this is too strange *not* to be exciting. Curt is sinuous, like a dancer, sliding down Obi-Wan's body, and Obi-Wan buries his hands in that impossibly platinum hair as Curt closes over his cock. Obi-Wan's eyes fly open and he looks startled again but he doesn't stop Curt. In fact, it doesn't take him long for Curt to get him there-- then they're both coming, Obi-Wan gasping and groaning, his hands clenched in Curt's hair, and Curt, too, grinding into the bedspread, grunting around Obi-Wan's cock. Curt rises abruptly then, wiping the corner of his mouth with the middle finger of his hand, licking it, then goes to the bathroom. He comes back with a towel, wiping himself, then the bed, and he tosses the towel down and climbs next to Obi-Wan, grinning like, "look, I made a mess." He is running his hands all over Obi-Wan's body, wherever he can reach, sometimes comparing it to his own by putting his hand on the corresponding place on his own body.)

Obi-Wan: I-- (Sighing, looking blissed-out and disbelieving at the same time) That was -- as if *I* had-- (breaks off, almost dreamily)

Curt: Yeah. (He leans over Obi-Wan for his cigarettes. He shakes one half-out of the pack, offers it to Obi-Wan, who looks at him questioningly, but takes it.)

Obi-Wan (Examines the cigarette, turning it.): I hope I haven't violated any cultural laws here.

Curt (laughing suddenly, coughing a little around smoke): Yeah probably like eight or ten. (Offering Obi-Wan a light, seeing that blank look again) Suck on it. You *do* know how to--? (He laughs again, unable to help himself. Obi-Wan is trying, though, meeting Curt's eyes while he draws on the cigarette, catching the flame at the tip-- then he coughs, suddenly and uncontrollably, racking first-time-smoker coughs. Curt claps him on the back.)

Curt: I'm sorry, man. Fuck. I shouldn't've let you do that. (Takes the cigarette, no argument from Obi-Wan.)

Obi-Wan (gasping): What a vile-- (inhaling sharply) --what's the good of that?

Curt (grinning broadly): It's, uh, something you learn to love.

Obi-Wan: An acquired taste?

Curt: Yeah.

Obi-Wan: Fuck. (Coughs one more time into a fist; Curt laughs.)

(Fade.)

(Fade in: time has elapsed; the light is different coming in the window, and the ashtray is nearly full, though we're quite sure that Curt is the only one smoking. Obi-Wan has been telling him about the Jedi and about the shielding sequencer. Fade in on the voices.)

Obi-Wan: ... stone was meant to end up on a small planet in what you call the Milky Way galaxy. But the coordinate program malfunctioned. How it got mixed up with this Jack person, we don't know. The best we could determine was that he was the last one reportedly in possession of the stone. Prior to that, the heir to the Hestalonian throne kept it. The one you know as Oscar Wilde.

Curt (Irritably): Alright just hang on a minute. (Rubs his eyes-- sex didn't make this any easier for him to understand.) So if I don't give you this thing, there's a planet that's going to die. A whole fucking planet.

Obi-Wan: Yes. We only sent the stone off Coruscant to keep it from the renegade band of--

Curt (Flopping his hand in Obi-Wan's direction): Yeah, yeah. (He looks at Obi-Wan squarely, and we practically /watch/ the idea hit him.) But if I'm going to give you this pin, you're going to have to make it worth it for me. (Wicked, gleaming smile.) You might be here a while. Want a beer?

Obi-Wan:.... beer?

(Curt's smile widens.)

(Fade.)

(Cut back in to Council Chambers, Coruscant.)

Obi-Wan (Formal, clipped-- the embodiment of Jedi propriety.): ... so in the end, the retrieval of the stone took only a few days, once I had located the signature of it.

Yoda: Four days, wasn't it? Took a lot of convincing, he did, hm?

Obi-Wan (In his impeccably cultured, reserved tone.): A whole fucking lot.

(Pan around Council-- they're clueless.)

Obi-Wan: At any rate, Master, our archives on Terra are woefully out of date, and there are several ...customs... which should be updated. I should like to volunteer to return at a later date, with my Master's permission, of course, to update the records personally.

Yoda: Updated, the records must be. (Looking at Obi-Wan critically.) Hope, I do, that you did not break any cultural taboos in your ignorance, Padawan Kenobi.

(Obi-Wan tucks his arms into his sleeves, prudently silent.)

(Voice-over, Curt Wild, snickering.)

(Fade.)

End.